oh where do we begin? (the rubble or our sins)
by EtherealCrescent
Summary: (Sleepy Hollow TV) : An assortment of on-going Ichabod Crane and Abbie Mills pieces. Some longer than others, nonlinear-Romance/ Adventure/ Fantasy/ Horror & everything else.
1. white trees, rated PG

**Disclaimer: **I disclaim all rights and responsibilities to these characters. I only wish I owned them.

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**Pairing: **Abbie/Ichabod  
**Genre: **Angst/Romance**  
Word Count: **234  
**Rating:** PG  
**Author's note: **in my universe, ichabod moves into Abbies spare room & this is how it happens.

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**white trees**

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Every wall in Abbie's apartment is painted: olive, taupe, wine, burnt orange, there's a billion different shades on the walls.

Every time anyone comes over, which isn't very often_,_ they always comment how nice it is, how put together it all seems.

When Ichabod steps across the threshold, the day he moves into her spare room, her home, her _life— they're entwined, she remembers— _she hopes he'll say the same. She prays he won't notice that there's no white because it sickens her, that it gives her nightmares, that she still gets nauseous when she's been in the woods too long…

She hopes that his ancient blue eyes won't see through her like they've already proven they can.

_'Not tonight,'_ she thinks.

They both saw what was in that mirror. And Abbie— the young Abbie, the little girl who'd woken up in the middle of the street with a sister who'd seen the same impossible _terrifying_ thing she had— has just learned that her terror all these years has been just as warranted as she'd somehow always known it'd been.

"Hm," Ichabod hums, body still but eyes roaming slowly. There is something in his gaze when he looks back at her. Abbie feels her fingers twitch.

He hesitates.

"It's lovely," Ichabod compliments, placing his dirty bible on her side table and moving further inside.

Abbie exhales.

"Thanks," she says, shutting the red front door.


	2. lips, rated PG PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I disclaim all rights and responsibilities to these characters. I only wish I owned them.

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**Pairing: **Abbie/Ichabod  
**Genre: **Romance**  
Word Count: **257  
**Rating:** PG  
**Author's note: **this was originally written for the prompt: lips, sent to me on tumblr.

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**lips**

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The truth is: Abbie has never been quite as convinced of their mission as Ichabod is.

Even with all the things she's seen so far, all the things that she's been ill-prepared for; witches and magic, demons and darkness. Evil has made itself a constant in her life and still— Abbie has never been _sure._

Ichabod always speaks of destiny and fate, and of what they're meant for and Abbie hears it, _she listens._

Ichabod believes that they're fated to stop the end of the world. He believes that they're memorialized in the bible, _witnesses_, that their souls were created for this. _'It's meant to be Abbie,' he always says. _

And yet, she has always thought much simpler. Abbie's always believed, even before she'd ever known Ichabod existed, that when bad stuff happens in your town, you fight it. And perhaps its just been a great coincidence that Ichabod has been at her side, fighting it with her.

But when Abbie kisses Ichabod for the first time… it's so much _more_ than lips meeting lips. It's _more_ than two people coming together, clumsily, frantic, and unplanned.

When _they_ kiss, Abbie feels different. Everything melts away; the stress, the pressure, the fear that they'll fail (fail the town… or if Ichabod is right, fail the World).

When _they_ kiss, Abbie is sure of something.

And afterwards, looking up into Ichabod's bright blue eyes, Abbie thinks that maybe… _just maybe_ she might believe in fate too.


	3. the end, rated PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I disclaim all rights and responsibilities to these characters. I only wish I owned them.

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**Pairing: **Abbie/Ichabod  
**Genre: **Angst**  
Word Count: **355  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Author's note: **Now is probably a better time than ever to reiterate that this story is nonlinear. (also i may have written this after a few-_many_-glasses of wine and with no editing, whoops? lol)

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**the end.**

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The police station stands in front of them, if it is what you can truly call standing.

It's ablaze, just like the rest of Sleepy Hollow, cloaked in crimson flames and burning as hot as the sun.

The town screams it's terror aloud in the streets. And the sky is nothing but storms and darkness.

The apocalypse is here.  
The apocalypse is _now._

And they've fought forever but it's _still_ the end of the world.

"Did we fail?" Abbie asks, looking up at Ichabod who stands at her side like he has for as long as it has mattered. She doesn't know what to do with this much chaos running rampant right in front of her.

She's just a cop. She's only _one woman._

"No," he says, resolute, without a glance. He believes it at a level that Abbie will never cease to respect, "We haven't failed, but the end of days has still come."

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People are screaming and running and scared, and no one is safe from judgement._ No one_ is safe at all.

Abbie feels nothing but pity for the ones who'd never saw it coming.

Ichabod stands beside her and she can't help but notice how his eyes are heavy and exhausted, how he doesn't seem as tall as she remembers.

It's been _seven years._ Seven years of fighting and winning and _losing sometimes too_ but the time of the end was always meant to come.

The apocalypse was bound to happen.

"So what do we do now?" Abbie questions, leaning into him as someone charred burns on his knees on the sidewalk across from them. "Is this a part of our fate too? Watching this happen? Knowing it would?"

And Ichabod doesn't answer for a long time.

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"I don't know," he finally says after a long moment and it's the _worst_ because Abbie's never heard him sound lost before, not even after waking up in a world he could never understand but never failed to try and protect. "I— I just don't know Abigail."  
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Abigail Mills grabs Ichabod Crane's hand and they stand together— watching the world go up in flames.


	4. dance, rated PG

**Disclaimer: **I disclaim all rights and responsibilities to these characters. I only wish I owned them.

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**Pairing: **Abbie/Ichabod  
**Genre: **Friendship/Romance**  
Word Count:** 338  
**Rating:** PG  
**Author's note: **this was originally written for the prompt: dance, sent to me on tumblr

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**dance.**

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"I can show you how."

Without preamble, Ichabod rises from her couch and holds out his hand.

The way he's standing, he could be at a ball, poised like a gentleman propositioning a lady… except Ichabod's standing in Abbie's living room, the television is blaring, and— _as he has once pointed out_— Abbie's wearing pants.

She laughs and rolls her eyes.

"I said I _couldn't_ dance. I didn't say I _wanted_ to learn how."

Ichabod shrugs, his hand still lingering in the space between them.

"Fine. I want to show you," he corrects simply, "Especially if _that_," and he gestures at the television with a small curl of his lips, "is truly what this century considers dancing."

She doesn't budge.

"And perhaps because I haven't danced in a very long time," he adds, a little softer, even if he doesn't notice it.

Abbie thinks about saying that that's probably a sign he shouldn't anymore but he _really does_ look like a gentleman and it's throwing her off. He _is_ a gentleman she suddenly remembers. He probably did dance at balls with elegant ladies in elegant dresses. Sometimes she forgets.

He normally takes it in stride but there have been many times that Abbie has wondered what it must be like for him, taking in the future, experiencing everything new. It must be terrifying most days. She wonders how she'd handle it.

But looking up at him now… poised like he is, this is the first that she's actually considered the other side of the coin. She wonders what it must be like to let everything go. The past is dead and gone and Ichabod is as close to a relic as she's ever been.

She shakes her head.

"All right," Abbie finally sighs, reaching out and placing her hand in his. He smiles and helps her to her feet. "But only cause I feel bad for you."

Ichabod doesn't seem to mind.


	5. mimic (part one), rated PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I disclaim all rights and responsibilities to these characters. I only wish I owned them.

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**Pairing: **Abbie/Ichabod  
**Genre: **Romance/horror**  
Word Count:** 548  
**Rating:** T / M  
**Author's note: **this was written maybe two weeks ago? and there's a second part to it which will be posted soon. [ & also, I happen to be working on an ichabbie oneshot that was prompted for me on tumblr, so maybe that will be posted sometime this week as well :) ] Enjoy.

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**mimic (part one)**

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It's three in the morning when Ichabod comes to in a haze.

His eyes are adjusted to the dark but the abrupt awakening from sleep leaves his head spinning. There's something, something lingering at the edge of his mind, something that has woken him up but he can't quite put his finger on it. Something seems different but he's not sure what… at least, not yet.

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Where she wasn't a second ago, she is now.

Abbie.

Abbie in her bed, Abbie moving beneath her sheets, which wouldn't be such a significant thing if Ichabod wasn't already in them. She's rising up from beneath the covers, a small smile tugging at her closed lips.

Ichabod inhales a sharp breath. And then she's over him— on top of him.

_'What is she doing?' he thinks, "What is going on? Abbie would never—"_

"Ab—" he tries to question, confused and shocked (but mostly lost and maybe even a little hopeful too), but Abbie is already putting a stop to it, placing a silencing finger atop his lips.

And Ichabod has dreamed of this, dreamed of it far too often. Abbie is a strong and beautifully complicated woman and they were fated to meet. There is something about the two of them together that is just… _right_ and he's never tried to deny that. It is not such a surprise that thoughts of being with her, of courting her, have crossed his mind but he has always felt the sinner for it. Katrina may be gone but she's _not_ and he shouldn't feel the way he does. He shouldn't long for Abbie.  
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But they had always been thoughts and he'd always been sure that Abbie didn't feel the same.

Something prickles at the back of Ichabod's mind. Maybe that's it. Maybe he's dreaming again. In fact… this doesn't seem real. Something seems off. Something seems—

Abbie leans down and softly kisses the finger she's placed on his mouth, her lips never quite touching his, but Ichabod can nearly savor the warmth of them. He can nearly imagine how soft and supple they'd feel, how sweet they'd be, until he doesn't have to.

Her mouth is on his jaw, his cheek, his temple and he can't help but close his eyes, his heart is pounding.

"Ichabod," she whispers softly in his ear and her other hand glides up his chest.

His name has never sounded like it before.

"Abbie," he answers, not actually trying to, not bothering to question when her finger had fallen away from his lips or when exactly she'd leaned back to stare down at him.

It is of it's own accord that Ichabod's hand rises to cup her cheek and the way Abbie leans into it… the way she leans into _him—_

Ichabod gives in.  
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And maybe this isn't real, he silently acknowledges as he draws her down to meet him as he rolls them over.

Maybe he is dreaming.  
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It's just that he doesn't care.  
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It isn't until a little later that he becomes privy to what had seemed so off.  
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Her smile.  
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_It was sharp._


	6. mimic (part two), rated PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I disclaim all rights and responsibilities to these characters. I only wish I owned them.

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**Pairing: **Abbie/Ichabod  
**Genre: **Romance/horror**  
Word Count:** 1480  
**Rating:** T / M  
**Author's note: **here's part two! ( & I'm like 99% sure I'm not including this two part fic in the same universe as the other pieces in this anthology, so yeah, basically just think of this chapter & the last as a free little story lol. i can't decide if i want to write another part to this yet.)

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**mimic (part two)**

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For Abbie, the shock of finding Ichabod with herself lasts for about two and a half seconds.

Two and a half seconds full of— _what the hell?_ and _how?_ and _I must still be sleeping because this can't be real._

And then over Ichabod's shoulder, it turns it's head and _stares_ at her— smiles with Abbie's lips but _other_teeth.

And there Abbie's shock spikes into terror, her heart jumping into her throat. It looks like her, sounds like her, but it's twisted and _awful_ and it's touching Ichabod… and _he's_ touching it.

It's smiling with such malice and chill and Abbie is struck with the sudden and completely rational fear that it will kill him right now. That it will kill him and Abbie will end up having to watch herself do it.

Her entire body seizes up.  
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_And then Abbie breathes, aims between her own eyes and fires._  
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The look on his face when Ichabod turns—_ shock, fear, heart-wrenching panic—_ let's Abbie know that he really had thought it was her.

"Abbie," he says eyes wide, with pure relief and slowly fading terror . He is arising from the bed, pants hanging low on his hips (and at least it was not as horrible as she'd thought). He heads toward her without thought in a moment. It isn't until he's just a few steps in front of her that the shame becomes etched in his face, that realization hits.

Abbie doesn't say anything back. She can't.

Instead she turns away to look down at the bed.

It is still lying there, head in pieces, a mess. And Abbie had hoped when she'd fired that it was the type of thing/demon/monster (she doesn't even know what this one is) to disappear when it was killed and that they could have just pretended that this never even happened. But it would seem that they won't be that lucky.

There's black blood and pieces of "other" splattered all over the wall and honestly considering everything, Abbie would _still_ rather focus on that. It's safe. Death has become a part of their everyday and evil is normalcy.

It's a lot less dangerous than approaching the subject that they will have to now.

_Ichabod had thought it was her._

_He had thought it was her and she had no idea what that was supposed to mean._

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It's a tense silence that fills the room, nothing said since Ichabod's one utterance— _her name, desperate and full of relief._

Now that it's dead, they can both see (mostly) what it really looked like and Abbie feels the burn of bile at the back of her throat. She doesn't dare to imagine what Ichabod must be feeling. He'd been touching it—_her._

Abbie's head won't stop spinning.

"The likeness was—" Ichabod breaks the silence, anxious, trying to make everything all right, and then trails off. Explaining how he was tricked is not the problem, that much had been obvious, explaining everything else is the problem. "It was—"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Abbie suddenly asks, voice a chill and Ichabod nearly winces at the anger in it, "It could have killed you."

And she's right of course. Ichabod remembers knowing that something was wrong and dismissing it, not caring about the truth itching at the back of his mind.

It had kissed him and run it's hands over his skin and he had fallen victim to it with nothing more than the simple whisper of lips— but they had been _Abbie's_ lips and that had made all the difference. How was he to explain that? How could he possibly say that now with her looking as disgusted as she was?

"I'm sorry. I thought—"

And honestly, Abbie doesn't really know where the anger has come from but now that it's here, the fury makes her hands shake.

"I think we both know what you thought," Abbie spits, not knowing why. And she's not sure that anything else has actually happened tonight but the hurt that passes over Ichabod's face at her words_ is real._

"Right," he agrees voice even, refusing to meet her eyes, "And I'm sorry for that as well lefttenant. I should have known that you would never—" He stops, his stance gets straighter but his eyes more blank, "I _did_know."

Abbie blinks, taking that in. He looks so sure but the truth of the matter is that she's not.

Abbie feels her heart pick up in her chest, looks at him from the corner of her eye, so close but still just out of reach, and focuses on what's really bothering her. She's so confused.

She has felt absolutely foolish for _months. _With everytime Ichabod has mentioned Katrina, mentioned finding her or saving her, mentioned loving her.

Abbie doesn't know when it had started and the truth makes her sick, makes her feel like a horrible person but she can't deny that she had meant it each and every time she'd hoped— _literally hoped_—that they would never find Katrina.

She doesn't know when exactly her heart had started to clench at the thought of Katrina being here with them, with Ichabod again. But it does… all the time.

And what was all of this supposed to mean? That Ichabod wanted her too?

She feels the bitterness filling her up, at the thought.

Abbie has more sense than that. How could it mean that? It was a demon, none of it had to make any sense. It _didn't_ make any sense. She knew that Ichabod didn't feel anything for her because how could he?

Abbie knows Ichabod loves Katrina. Their love spands centuries, dimensions even. What chance could she have?

And yet, though she's gone through this with herself tons of times it never changes her feelings, like she's meant to feel them. Abbie and Ichabod have spent so much time together, just the two of them, saving the town and the world; saving _each other._

And she trusts him. And he believes in her. How could she not have grown to care for him, how could she not have started to fall in—

"Yeah… well," Abbie blurts, stopping her thoughts. The anger has disappeared as quickly as it had come but she crosses her arms and fakes it anyway. Suddenly she's very_ very_ tired, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

And she means it.

Abbie thinks that maybe this'll be it for now. She wont stay to help him clean up, not this time. She just needs to sleep this all off. Maybe have a drink, maybe have a few.

She needs to get out of here and it's not until she turns to leave that Ichabod finally speaks up.

"No, wait."

And despite herself and her better judgement, she stops for him. "What?"

A pause.

"It won't get in the way."

With no further explanation forthcoming, Abbie sighs, feeling exhausted, and turns to look at him over her shoulder. Her brows are furrowed. "What won't?" she asks. He still wont look at her.

"I'm aware my… actions this night might have the potential to damage our partnership," Ichabod says slowly as if searching for the right words.

As he stops to think, for some reason, Abbie feels her chest tightening.

"But I want you to know," he says after a moment, "that my feelings for you won't be a problem. I know what we're meant to do together and now I am certain I know what we are not as well."

Abbie doesn't move for a few long seconds and then she turns full around to face him. There's a lump in her throat.

"Your feelings for me?" she echoes, trying her best to come off unaffected when her heart is pounding.

Something about it must be noticeable though (or maybe it's just Ichabod and his uncanny ability to understand her, even when she doesn't wish to be understood) because Ichabod's eyes finally look up to meet hers and the emotion there isn't new. It's not the first time that she's sensed it but it's the first that she wonders if she's not imagining things. Abbie feels a jolt shoot through her and recognizes from the slight change in his face that he might have felt it too.

He doesn't drop his gaze from hers.

"Yes, Ms. Mills. My feelings…" he says, slow and even, "I understand if they're unwanted."

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And they both notice the question.

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The _if._

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End file.
